


boyfriends! boyfriends!

by oculata



Series: Carbon and Dried Mangoes [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cute Date, Domestic Boyfriends, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, they're just very sweet and happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23184280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oculata/pseuds/oculata
Summary: They're official.(College AU)
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Carbon and Dried Mangoes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620751
Comments: 32
Kudos: 133





	1. monday morning

**Author's Note:**

> time for part 3! sorry for the delay in getting this up. my city is actually on lockdown for the next 2+ weeks so posting will probably be quicker lol anyway weeee let’s goooo
> 
> (also, i don't think i made this obvious, but mickey [and by extension lip] is supposed to be a year ahead of ian—lip and mickey are juniors, and ian is a sophomore)
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/_clennam)

Mickey was aware that he had spent most of his life dreaming—dreaming for something better, something sweeter, something not so coarse so he didn’t feel like the mucous membranes lining his lungs were being painfully sanded away each time he took a breath. He was constantly thinking about the pathway to something brighter, something easier, and he’d dreamt about it for years, wondering about its intricacies, hoping it was coming, and yearning for it to be soon. And college—the point that cemented the severance of his whole life in Chicago in such a way that only allowed him incremental contact with what once was—was the first step to that, he’d believed.

And he was right. He did feel freer, as if the air found a better way to nestle into his chest. He was happier; he had new, accepting friends. He finally didn’t get screamed at when he wanted to study and read instead of taking off on a run with his dad or spending two whole days filing off serial numbers on guns. He didn’t have to keep his million different stories about his practically nonexistent heterosexual escapades straight so he’d never see that fiery homophobic glint in his dad’s eye. It was so much easier feeling like he actually belonged on earth.

But, occasionally, Mickey still reflected on if it was all worth it because though he had his newfound liberty, something in his heart and gut was connected back to his shitty house at the end of a hollow street—a piece of him buried under the floorboards, seemingly waiting for him to return home and collect it. At least at home, as he’d reasoned, he had some sort of distorted stability in the way of always having work available to him, his family being able to easily contact him without fear of severe bodily harm, and having an at least shadowy view of the future’s building blocks. But all of this twisted stability was at the cost of needing to hide the most fundamental parts of himself potentially for his entire life. In college, by contrast, he had the liberty he so greatly clamored for, but his life plan expired at graduation. The world of actual, legitimate work was shoddy even with a fancy degree, and despite his trying not to think about it, the thorns of anxiety managed to find their way into his chest regardless.

So, from time to time, Mickey thought of the irreversible decision he’d made that night with Terry on the hood of that cop car, with obscenities swirling around that were meant to damn every person on this earth to hell, wondering if—in the overall scheme of things—he’d made the right decision or not.

But, during the mornings in the dorm when everything was soft and mild and lovely, he was understanding that, perhaps, freedom was worth the severance. And on this morning in particular, with Ian’s hand cupping his jaw to pull him out from his sleep and into a grounding but delicate kiss, he had never been more convinced of just how right his decision was.

“Hey,” Ian whispered after he lifted off Mickey’s lips. Mickey’s eyes fluttered open to the room being sliced through by strobes of white light coming in from between the curtains. “It’s almost nine, so I’m gonna head to class.”

Mickey grumbled and scooted forward to nuzzle his face into Ian’s lap, wrapping arms around his waist.

“I need to go, Mick,” Ian said, sounding disappointed by the statement himself.

“Maybe you can skip?” Mickey suggested in a singsongy manner, sleepy eyelids batting open and closed quickly as a wordless plea.

Ian scoffed. “Weren’t you the one riding my dick a week ago about ‘missing too much class’? Or was that someone else?”

Mickey paused as he processed the question, letting the words sink in before he bit his bottom lip in an attempt to stifle his laugh.

“Oh my God,” Ian threw his head back as his boyfriend descended into a fit of giggles on his lap. “You know what I mean!”

“Course I do,” Mickey affirmed with a smirk and slight snort.

Ian smiled and placed a hand on Mickey’s head, gently stroking the waves into place with his fingers as he gazed down at the man in his lap. Mickey took the opportunity to tuck his face into Ian’s waistline, deeply inhaling the scent of his shirt before his eyes lolled closed again and he was drifting off to sleep. They stayed still for a moment, Ian’s fingers running through his dark locks as repose caused Mickey’s limbs to slacken, mind succumbing to a relaxed flurry of affection.

When Ian’s gentle movements stalled, Mickey’s face twisted up, and he let out a peeved grumble.

Ian laughed. “I really gotta go, Mick.”

With a loud, dramatic puff, Mickey slid off Ian’s lap and back onto his pillow, looking at his boyfriend through the cracks between his eyelids. Ian smiled sweetly and, as a response, leaned over to press another tender kiss onto Mickey’s lips.

“Do you wanna go out for ice cream after I pick you up from class?” Ian asked.

Mickey felt the corners of his mouth rise up into a warm grin. He nodded, the pillowcase emitting a scratchy sound from his movement.

“Okay,” Ian confirmed with a smile and ducked down to slot their lips together for a final time, now with his hands hugging the sides of Mickey’s neck. Mickey let a little satisfied moan vibrate between their mouths, and when Ian lifted off, his original smile had morphed into a smirk.

“Text me when you wake up,” Ian said as he stood up off the bed. “Also, they were giving out these bacon and pancake breakfast platter things for some reason, so I got you one. It’s on my desk.”

Mickey nodded as he turned his head to watch Ian shuffle out of the room. Ian slung his backpack over his shoulder and was about to exit the room when he paused to admire the image gracing the bed—that of Mickey’s bare chest peeking up from above the flat sheet, pale and velvety, collarbones and the dips surrounding them flowing seamlessly into the contours of his neck. But it was Mickey's face that made the air get punched out of Ian’s lungs—how Mickey’s eyes peacefully laid closed and his lips parted just the amount needed for his breath to escape; how his cheek sunk into the pillow and how his body rose and fell with his airflow. Ian was utterly in awe of how it was possible for Mickey to look so beautiful and delicate even while he was falling away to sleep.

With a final eyeful and small smile, Ian slid out of the room and quietly shut the door behind him, the air flowing through his nose feeling crisp but still accommodating the weight of infatuation.

 _Ian (9:01 am):_ Sleep well <3

* * *

Mickey awoke again a little over an hour later, feeling refreshed but still pining for the feeling of Ian’s body to be beside his. He blinked a few times at the white ceiling as his vision adjusted to the world again and stretched out his back before swinging over to the nightstand to grab his phone. His face warmed at the sight of Ian’s text.

 _Mickey (10:06 am):_ <3  
_Mickey (10:06 am):_ i’m up now, gonna get ready

He slowly sat up in bed as he looked through his notifications, observing that the most recent one was a call from his sister that he’d somehow not heard in his slumber. He pressed the button to call her back as he rose from the bed sluggishly, hissing when his warm feet hit the cold wooden floor.

“Hey, assface!” Mandy hooted as soon as the line opened.

Mickey groaned at the volume. “Hey. What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing really. Haven’t heard much from you, and I’m just wantin’ to see how the love boat is,” she tittered.

“Lookin’ to stick your ass in other people’s business, huh?” Mickey challenged playfully.

“Shut up, fuckface!” she exclaimed. “I know you wanna tell me, so I’m giving you the opportunity!”

Mickey smiled and rolled his thumb over his fingertips as the blush flooded his cheeks. He and Ian had spent the last week since their official commitment to each other holed up in the dorm and refusing to open the door unless they had to grab their takeout or go to class. It had been a blur of orgasms, hours upon hours of laughter, gentle caresses that slid far into the night, and each man taking any chance they could to sabotage the studying practices of the other. So, though Mickey had been outside more than a few times over the last week, the most he’d talked about Ian were a couple dreamy but quick ramblings to whichever classmate inquired. But, now that he had around fifteen minutes of his sister’s unadulterated attention, he was realizing just how excited he was to jabber on endlessly about how happy he felt.

So he did, with lots of “uh”’s and “um”’s and longing sighs and fingers twirling an invisible phone cord, babbling relentlessly with a bright smile on his face and a spring in the balls of his feet that was pushing him further and further onto his toes until he was practically hovering in the air. Mandy listened to him in a silent awe as he recounted the appropriate instances of the last week and his growing fascination with Ian’s idiosyncrasies, adding particular detail and emphasis to just how fascinated Ian seemed with him, too, including the events from an hour prior. Mandy was all starry-eyed about the affair, egging him on at every turn to continue his patter until he had no choice but to hang up the call or risk being late for class.

As he ambled down campus at a pace far too slow given the imminent start of his class, Mickey felt the dreamy push of infatuation under his feet. His head felt like it was somewhere between earth and clouds as he recalled the blurred events of the morning and the conversation with his sister, and it all helped him realize just how excited he was to get through the day so he could see Ian again and continue their tryst. He could feel himself slipping down further and further into a well full of ardor, and though he assumed he should feel terrified by how much affection was swelling in his heart for Ian, he couldn’t. All he could and wanted to do was continue walking on air towards the sound of Ian’s voice, wherever it took him.

So, though he may have squandered any chance he had at a somewhat stable (he supposed “consistent” was a better descriptor than stable) future and felt the odd pang of regret about it for whatever deeply rooted but unclear reason, he couldn’t find it in himself to care about it as much any longer because the road to his current plan’s expiration was paved with sweetness and delight. He was even beginning to entertain the fact that it could possibly extend far beyond the moment he received his diploma.

* * *

Ian spent his morning lecture dazedly staring at the smartboard thinking about the man whom he knew was still laid in their bed. He knew Mickey was looking blissful as ever, and he always longed for the mornings when he woke up first so he could just admire the beauty that was Mickey asleep—where he could run his fingers through the black hair and then trail them down the stubble on his cheeks, sometimes tickling his neck just enough so that he’d nuzzle into Ian’s chest or arm further before relaxing once again. He’d done the same that morning before he unwillingly slid out of bed. He was beginning to wonder if he should start setting his alarm for ten minutes earlier than it currently was so he could properly savor the innocence that came with mornings and having Mickey in his arms, Mickey’s body warming Ian’s chest, legs, and side from how tightly Mickey wrapped himself around his boyfriend.

“That good, eh?” Lucia asked quietly after watching Ian lose himself to his thoughts for a while, the professor still droning in the background.

“Yeah,” he sighed happily, scribbling little hearts across his notebook and over his letters because with the intensity of his feelings, he felt the cheesy expression was necessary.

Ian sometimes had difficulty in being so openly affectionate with Mickey. Not because he was afraid of the gestures and the emotion behind them, but rather because Mickey seemed so suave and collected while Ian felt like a bumbling, clumsy fool still trying to understand why another human being would enjoy his company _that_ much. Mickey was so good at swinging his arms around Ian’s neck and pulling him down into a kiss, and though Ian’s hands practically pleaded to be placed on Mickey’s hips at all times, he still felt so silly being so brazen with his romantic actions. The most he could muster a good portion of the time was a quick joking tap on Mickey’s ass, which would then be followed by Mickey essentially tackling him down onto the bed with a laugh and an all-consuming kiss, leading him into the next activity that he felt far more in control in. Sex still occasionally had Ian feeling inexperienced and lost, but Mickey would always smile sweetly and proceed to guide him through it with gentle whispers and encouraging kisses.

Ian wasn’t sure why the “grand event” was so much easier to handle compared to the casual affection outside of it, and he was certain that the only person blaming him for being awkward and clueless was himself. Reciprocity was easier for him than initiation, and that was why he yearned for the endless mornings where Mickey slept in his arms—it was the time when Ian’s badgering thoughts about his supposed inadequacy were mostly silent, and he could be just as affectionate and gentle as he wanted without fear of judgement from anyone. But, though he knew Mickey would never judge any of his fallacies, he still wanted to be as close to perfect as possible for the man whom he found most impeccable.

That morning had been a marginal feat for him, an unprecedented move of bravery and confidence that he was still riding the high of, hoping to God that the fear that came from his inexperience and wish to not mess anything up with Mickey again would stay subdued through their ice cream date and perhaps stretch into the evening, if he were lucky.

Once the professor had ended the class, Ian quickly extended his farewells to his classmates and skipped out the door, eager to run to the engineering building to meet his boyfriend.

* * *

Mickey was at the bottom of the staircase of the building, kicking the dirt around with his shoes when Ian came barreling up to him with a bright smile.

Mickey’s face lit up at the image. “Hey.”

“Hi!” Ian returned a little breathlessly. Mickey chuckled and gently placed his fingers under Ian’s chin. 

“C’mere,” he purred, bringing his boyfriend’s face down to catch his lips.

Ian’s taut and exerted body loosened at the contact, and when he pulled off, he looked as if he’d downed a few shots. As he geared up to speak, though, Mickey could see the anxiety fill his eyes.

“Are you ready?” Ian asked, biting his lip as he held out his hand for Mickey to take. Mickey seemed momentarily surprised by the forward gesture but took the hand with nothing more than a smiley nod to answer Ian’s question.

They strode off campus slowly, intent on appreciating the sunny but still temperate day and the conversation flowing between them, which consisted of the usual complaints about professors and deadlines and Mickey’s traditional grilling Ian on the topics covered in lecture so he could make sure Ian had been paying attention.

“I’m pretty sure you have no fucking clue what I’m talking about,” Ian said with a laugh, abruptly cutting off a long winded explanation about ecology.

“Feel like I’m learnin’ so much about organisms in wetlands, though,” Mickey chuckled, giving Ian’s hand a squeeze. Ian’s grip tightened, and he began running his fingerpads across Mickey’s knuckles.

They eventually arrived at the ice cream parlor, a modern space that was attempting to keep the charm of the 50s by having their menu scrawled across four blackboards, wiry chairs, and cherry red trim all over the place. They proceeded up to the counter so they could peruse the flavor offerings.

“Ooh, ‘m thinkin’ I want hot fudge on mine,” Mickey said in wonderment, running a finger along his bottom lip as he flipped between a few choices.

“I think I’m just gonna get a scoop of vanilla in a waffle cone,” Ian decided.

Mickey turned to stare daggers into him. “You better get some fuckin’ chocolate sprinkles on that or else I’m not sittin’ with you.”

“Fine,” Ian conceded with a blush.

Mickey grinned and raised up on his toes to kiss Ian’s cheek before sinking back down to teasingly grumble, “Allergic to fun ass motherfucker.”

After getting their ice cream and Ian insisting to pay, they finally sat down at a table by a wide window. Ian eyed Mickey’s cup of ice cream suspiciously.

“I still don’t get the hot fudge with the strawberry ice cream thing,” he commented as Mickey eagerly went to shave off some of the fudge and cream.

“What?!” Mickey shot back with a mock offense, voice a little muffled by the ice cream he was trying to keep in his mouth. “‘S like chocolate covered strawberries!”

“Sure, weirdo—I’ll just sit here, minding my own business with something that actually makes sense while you eat your demon ice cream,” Ian returned, leaning back in his seat so he could direct his suspicious eye to Mickey.

Mickey chuckled and gave his boyfriend a playful kick to the shin. “Try it.”

The spoon was suddenly being shoved in Ian’s face, and he had nowhere he could run and no one who could save him. He reluctantly licked the mixture of hot fudge and strawberry ice cream and uneasily turned it over in his mouth, face jumping between a few twisted expressions as Mickey watched the scene with great amusement, still joyfully eating his order.

Ian swallowed it. “I like mine more,” he announced with a small smile and gave his vanilla ice cream a lick.

Mickey giggled. “No complaints here—more for me.”

Their chatter resumed and went on long after they both had finished their ice creams. The conversation had pivoted to Mickey telling Ian a rather dramatic tale from his childhood that involved backstories on top of backstories to give him the full effect. As entranced as Ian was by the cinematic storytelling before him, he also couldn’t stop peeking at the hand Mickey had resting on the table. His fingers craved to run along the smooth tabletop and grab it, but something in his brain was making him feel like he’d reached his initiation quota for the day, and it was time to take the backseat again. But Ian didn’t want to return to the awkwardness that plagued him—he wanted to be bold and forward, and he also wanted that aplomb to continue into the night and the next day. His mind kept searching for any excuse to keep his hand in his lap, trying to hook onto any of Mickey’s actions that showed disappointment in Ian’s lack of initiation, but there was nothing there. Mickey never did anything that showed he was peeved or upset with Ian—he always seamlessly guided him through without an ill word or expression.

With a burst of confidence so large that it made Ian’s back straighten out, he quickly slid his hand onto and across the table to take Mickey’s. Mickey paused his story to look at their clasped hands, and Ian took the opportunity to even intertwine their fingers. Mickey’s eyes flicked over to Ian, whose countenance was a confusing mix of shitting his pants and looking rather satisfied with himself. Mickey affirmed the gesture with a benevolent grin and resumed his story, running his thumb mindlessly along Ian’s skin.

That was the moment when Ian's background thoughts about the potential that what he and Mickey had could extend far after Mickey's graduation moved to the frontlines of his mind.


	2. friday night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay; depression sucks

_Mickey (9:22 am):_ hey

Ian’s concentration had been shot to hell recently, and he knew it was because his mind was always at least partially curled up in bed with his boyfriend. He’d even started to feel restless in class, the atoms in his body refusing to remain still for even a few moments at a time, seemingly perpetually in a rush to go see Mickey. He’d immediately noticed his phone screen light up from the text’s notification, but he’d also been glared at more than a few times by the professor during the lecture for checking his phone, so he tried to stave off his burning fingertips from melting onto the screen. But even when he tried to restrict himself, it was always in him—that acute sense of yearning where it almost felt like he was missing something as vital as an arm or an organ when Mickey wasn't immediately around.

_Mickey (9:23 am):_ <3

Ian glanced over at his phone again, lips quirking into a small smile and heat spreading across his skin. It was odd how quickly calm descended upon him when he was reminded of Mickey’s presence. He could literally feel the tension in his body leave with how his shoulders unwound and his jaw relaxed, like the relief of knowing that one was soon meant to head home after the stress of a long day. It always felt like coming home—every physical and mental pleasure of nostalgia and comfort and serenity working its way under his skin to make his bones and nerves feel more like gossamer than densely packed cells. It was so much more pleasant being in his body when he knew Mickey was there.

Eyeing the teacher’s movements, Ian scooped his phone into his lap the second the opportunity presented itself to send a response.

_Ian (9:25 am):_ Good morning <3  
 _Ian (9:25 am):_ Why’re you up so early?

Lucia tapped his arm to alert him that the professor was turning back around to look at the class, and he glued his eyes to the board as a front for his still dawdling mind.

_Mickey (9:26 am):_ idk, just missin you. couldn’t go back to sleep after you left

Growing up, Ian had learned that love and its manifestations were fast, destructive, and all-consuming—every relationship that he’d witnessed in his younger years was so turbulent and unforgiving, and he’d come to understand that the promise of love came with an unshakeable clause of violence and instability. Yet, what he had with Mickey felt so mild and slow and understanding, as if the two of them were holding hands and simultaneously leading each other through a serene adventure. Ian’s scope of love had slowly molded around that experience until eventually his whole sense of normalcy was turned upside down and thoroughly softened by affection. It was why he had had such a difficult time registering him and Mickey as being boyfriends beforehand—he was so accustomed to love being tempestuous that his brain hadn’t processed the relationship for what it truly was. Now, though, when Ian idly reflected on what it meant to be in a relationship or what being “domestic” with someone entailed, all that came to mind was the warmth and comfort that came with the most picturesque image of home along with all the hand holding and confiding and gentle touches that made Ian feel so understood and protected.

Ian didn’t think any of his family members could say that they felt unconditionally protected by their significant other. He wondered if Mickey thought the same thing.

_Ian (9:29 am):_ I miss you too  
 _Ian (9:29 am):_ Like a lot  
 _Mickey (9:32 am):_ my lab got cancelled again. i can get us some food and then when you get back from class we can keep watchin our show

The plunge he'd taken into his affectionate feelings had felt like a gentle gliding down a snowy hillside to a toasty wooden lodge, where everything that he wished for most awaited. Ian hadn’t expected love and how it consumed his being to be so pleasantly paced and temperate.

_Ian (9:33 am):_ Okay :)  
 _Ian (9:33 am):_ Is that thing at Ritchie’s still happening tonight?

The professor purposefully cleared his throat, and Ian’s eyes snapped back to the front of the room.

_Mickey (9:34 am):_ yea but we can escape early lol  
 _Mickey (9:36 am):_ don’t think i needa be there for too long anyway

Ian quickly peeked down at his phone.

_Ian (9:37 am):_ Ok <3  
 _Mickey (9:37 am):_ <3  
 _Mickey (9:38 am):_ go pay attention

Above everything, Ian was understanding that love was supposed to feel good and that it felt even better when its source was Mickey.

* * *

“Nice legs, Mick,” Ian chuckled as he slipped through the ajar dorm door, seeing Mickey bent over a pile of clothes on the floor in his boxers. “Door’s open; you’re just letting anyone see you like that?”

“Fuck off,” Mickey returned with a giggle, making it a point to stand up slowly so he could fully take in how Ian’s eyes surveyed him. He turned around to Ian with a blush. “I was tryin’ to find my nice dress shirt in this heap of shit for tonight ‘n the door popped open ‘cause I didn’t lock it.”

“Sounds plausible,” Ian joked as he set his backpack down next to the nightstand. When he looked over at Mickey again, the man was watching him with a bashful expression, eyeing him through his long lashes. He strode over to meet Mickey and began plucking at the hem of Mickey’s shirt. “I wouldn't blame people for looking, though.”

Mickey chuckled.

“How was class?” Mickey asked in his regular tone despite the shy eyes that were fixed on Ian’s collarbones and the coy smile dancing on the corners of his lips.

“It was alright,” Ian began, taking more of the shirt’s fabric between his fingers. “I got lots of stink eyes from the professor because I kept looking at my phone, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey challenged with raised brows, sliding his hand under Ian’s shirt and up along his side. “I woulda been pissed, too, if I were him. Gotta pay attention in those sorts of situations.”

“Of course,” Ian chuckled.

Ian’s hand then stalled, and Mickey stilled in response, quickly looking up into his face with large, imploring eyes. Ian’s lips parted as he gazed upon Mickey’s face, observing how his features melded together and flowed seamlessly to create what he deemed the most beautiful person in the world. As if their lips magnetized, Ian leaned down to capture Mickey’s mouth and bring them together into a soft but burning kiss. Ian could feel Mickey gasp a little as their lips connected, but he quickly melted into the touch, eyes lolling closed and sinking into Ian’s grip when Ian wrapped one hand around his neck to pull him in some more.

They stayed like that for a moment, fingertips gently pressing into and dragging down flesh in an attempt to instill even more closeness, lips remaining placid in movement but consuming in intent. Mickey sighed quietly and sunk hard onto Ian’s mouth, hand curving around Ian’s side so he could feel the other man's warmth.

Ian was continually dumbstruck with just how much he loved kissing Mickey. He wanted Mickey's lips all over his mouth any chance he got, and he was so aware of how his eyes always managed to find a way to trail down to his cupid’s bow and float along the seam from corner to corner. He couldn’t believe he was too chicken shit to initiate it so often sooner; it was so intoxicating feeling that closeness with him, lips burning together into something spectacular while the rest of the world deafened around them. He was perpetually amazed at how Mickey and his range of kisses, whether it was a gentle kiss to end a long day or something messy and desperate meant to accelerate their intimacy, had the ability to pour warmth into his body—to make him feel so whole that he could never remember how he was before.

And, Christ, as much as he yearned for that intimacy with him—that potency in sensation and feeling that had him drowning in adoration for the other man—nothing could top how much he wished Mickey felt the same towards him.

With a deep, slow sigh, Ian lifted off from Mickey’s lips, noting how Mickey traced up from the cleft in his chin to bore into his hazy eyes, something in them catching Mickey’s attention enough that he cracked a small smile. Ian grinned back as he slowly dragged his hand down Mickey’s shoulder before slotting it around his hip.

“Which shirt were you looking for?” Ian asked, looking over into the clothes heap.

“Y’know that nice black one with the grey stripes?”

Ian turned back to Mickey with furrowed brows. “Am I supposed to look that nice, too?”

“Don’t think so,” Mickey giggled. “ _I_ wouldn’t complain, but I’m just doin’ it ‘cause I feel like I’ve been dressed in basically nothin’ but boxers and T-shirts for the last week.”

Ian frowned. “But that’s your best look,” he protested as he swiped his hand down to give Mickey’s ass a squeeze.

“ _You_ think that,” Mickey pointed out with a bashful laugh, his cheeks feeling hot from his blush. “Dunno about other people, though.”

Ian’s eyes floated around the shape of Mickey’s lips again, hand drifting onto the small of his back.

“You wanna get into bed and keep watching our show?” Ian wondered, his words hanging lightly in the air.

“Sure,” Mickey responded with a nod, and Ian’s other hand was already roaming towards the waistband of Mickey’s boxers. Mickey placed a hand on Ian’s chest to stall his movements. “Pizza’s gonna get here soon.”

“Cockblocks,” Ian grumbled, slipping his fingers under the waistband in spite of Mickey’s warning, causing Mickey to let out a quiet shudder as Ian delicately rubbed the backs of his fingers along his waist.

“I can be quick,” Ian continued, his voice barely above a whisper and face so close to Mickey’s that Mickey could feel the air ghosting along his lips.

“Okay,” Mickey breathed out, eyelids all heavy and his gaze suddenly far more hazy and dreamy. He tilted his head up until their lips pressed together again, and soon after, Ian started slowly guiding them towards the bed.

Ian was a liar, though, because he wasn’t quick about anything—he spent nearly ten minutes running his fingertips up along Mickey’s sides, savoring the sensation of his skin under the touch while keeping a keen ear out for the soft moans trickling from Mickey’s mouth when his fingers brushed over the spots that made him coil. By the time Ian was just beginning to satiate his need and bring his fingers closer to Mickey's crotch, Mickey’s phone rang so loudly that the two of them nearly tumbled out of the bed in a whirl of terror. Mickey answered the call breathlessly, tone influenced by his wading panic and desperation for Ian’s hand to touch him more as he stumbled around the room for a pair of sweatpants so he could go meet the delivery driver in an at least half decent state.

“Gotta be quicker than that, Gallagher,” he teased as he swung out the door to go meet the delivery driver.

Even for those brief few moments when Mickey was elsewhere, Ian still felt that weighty feeling of longing sink onto his chest, and he turned to bury his face into Mickey’s pillow.

He wondered and, above all, hoped to God that Mickey felt the same about him.

* * *

“ _There_ it fucking is,” Mickey announced with relief as he dug out his missing dress shirt from under a cluster of clothes in the drawer, exasperation evident in his tone from how the minutes ticked by, making them way later than he wanted them to be.

“How’d it end up in there?” Ian yawned from the bed, eyes lazily gliding up and down Mickey’s bare chest and sides, taking a moment to admire how his thighs filled out his black jeans.

“Fuck if I know, man,” Mickey shrugged and began hastily throwing the shirt on and fumbling with the buttons. Ian slid off the bed and made his way over to Mickey, putting his calm hands over Mickey’s jittery ones. When Mickey dropped his arms to his sides, Ian smiled and resumed the buttoning.

“So how long do we need to be there for?” Ian asked, tilting his head easily as he watched the soft skin of Mickey’s chest disappear in increments behind the fabric.

“Maybe a couple hours,” Mickey replied. “Gotta say hi to a few people.”

“Popular,” Ian chaffed as he finished off the row of buttons.

“Fuck off,” Mickey laughed. Ian chuckled back as he took in the sight of his boyfriend looking so utterly impeccable.

“You look pretty,” he said as he neatened the dress shirt’s collar. Mickey softly hummed his acknowledgement of the compliment.

A silent minute rolled by, with Ian playing with the shirt’s collar by swiping his fingers along the dip in Mickey’s neck and up along the sides of his throat, before Mickey felt the romantic repose leave his being and be replaced by a surge of urgency. Despite Ian’s whines and roaming hands that kept attempting to slip under the tight waistband of his jeans, he ushered them out of the dorm in a hurry, the night sky vast above them. In between Mickey's complaining about so many of his lectures and labs getting cancelled over the course of two weeks and Ian’s endless qualms about the grading structure for his biology class—the intensities of which were being punctuated by Ian or Mickey, depending on who was spewing the grievance, squeezing tightly onto the hand of the other—they arrived at Ritchie’s house far quicker than they expected to, and Ian settled into autopilot as his boyfriend dragged him through the full house to mingle.

All Ian could do for the next hour as they bounced between groups and pairs of people was be enchanted by his boyfriend’s debonair. Mickey talked easily with everyone he encountered, and he managed to elicit a laugh from even the people whom he barely knew. Despite the slowly increasing volume of the party, the guests still found a way to keep their attentions locked on Mickey and what he was saying. In any other circumstance with anyone else, Ian would have felt like the most awkward fool standing beside someone in a mostly silent, entirely sober trance, only perking up to add something in when Mickey inserted him into the conversation, but with Mickey’s presence beside him, he felt like he belonged in any corner of the world that Mickey placed him in.

As the party raged on through the hour, Ian found himself on a couch in one of the expansive living rooms with Mickey on his lap as his boyfriend chatted with whoever the hell strolled by and decided they wanted his attention. Ian didn’t mind that this was cutting into the cuddling time they could have been partaking in back in the dorm—he was enjoying watching Mickey’s lips make any word he said look more refined than normal and the way Mickey’s fingers still found a way to brush against Ian’s hip or thigh reassuringly as he talked to whomever. His confidence was captivating, and Ian could almost feel himself slipping further and further under the sheet of ardor he’d found himself under.

Once there was finally a moment of peace where Mickey could actually drink his beer, Ian placed a hand on Mickey’s side and guided him so Mickey’s ear was hovering over his mouth.

“Very popular,” Ian teased.

“Shut the hell up,” Mickey returned for a smile and quickly downed the rest of his cup. “‘M tired as fuck. You wanna go up to the roof for a little bit ‘fore we go back?”

Ian nodded, causing Mickey to throw his empty cup somewhere onto the couch and spring up off his lap. He huffed when he noticed just how packed the room had gotten since their entry and took Ian’s hand so they could pass through the crowd as a unit. They struggled through the corridors and squeezing through the seemingly unending swathes of people, but eventually managed to make it up the grand but littered staircases and to the puny ladder that Ian could barely control his laughter at, earning him multiple nudges in the side.

The moon was bright and round, sitting high in the sky and making the white half walls circling the patio seem like they were glowing with a bluish hue. They entered the space lightly, as if they were walking on air, and Mickey guided them over to a spot on the ground where they sat down. With a deep sigh and fingertips resting atop Ian’s knuckles, Mickey leaned his head to the side until it was resting on Ian’s shoulder. Ian pressed his cheek into Mickey’s silky hair, and the two of them gazed out onto the red and brown roofs that peeked up into view, the moonlight cutting crisp lines along the edges of the shingles but softly bending into the grass that covered the hills that sat on the horizon. The voices of partygoers traveled up to them, but the men stayed silent, simply observing how the moon’s ever so slight movements through the sky changed the glow of its light.

All Ian could think about was how enamored he was with the man resting on his shoulder—how his presence seemed to fuse his world together; how his character was calming and inviting to everyone, but his most intimate and delicate side was reserved for Ian alone. It amazed him how they could sit in silence and Ian would never feel like time was being wasted—it only made him more besotted with the man whom he was slowly beginning to call his home.

Ian blinked rapidly as the realization struck him. He wondered if Mickey could hear his thoughts because as his understanding of his feelings solidified, Mickey’s hand wrapped around Ian’s and brought it into a clenching hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this series might be 5 parts instead of 4 depending on how people feel about part 4's ending. anyway, this part's over. part 4 is gonna be all about finals week/dead week/leading up to summer break and there are going to be a lot of feelings


End file.
